


Clouds of White

by recycle_box



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clintasha - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7104316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recycle_box/pseuds/recycle_box
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clint is Natasha's lifeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds of White

Each painful step setting her nerves on fire. Each laborious breath drawing in the frigid air. Each drop of crimson staining the white expanse of pristine snow. Each and every movement she makes, every breath she takes, drawing her closer to him.

Her breath puffs up into the air, clouds of white framing her face.

Gunshots. Maybe? The uncertainty is there - shouts, perhaps? She doesn’t know. Whispers, of wind? Clouds, of white coming from her mouth and his…

Where was he? Was he by her side as he had been, just moments ago?

He heard her screaming; she didn’t feel the shouts rip from her own throat.

He saw her blood, redder than her hair; she didn’t see the crimson drops dripping into the snow.

She saw his eyes, flashing their beautiful blue; he saw her eyes, flashing in pain…

He doesn’t say anything. It’s not as if he needs to. He just takes her into his arms, as he always does, as he always will, holding her close and shielding her.

She doesn’t do anything. It’s not as if she could. She just watches as her knight in shining armor saves her from her life of distress as he always does, as he always will. She instead turns away, her face cast downwards, watching as the crimson drip, drip, drips into the snow, watching as his legs bring her to safety…

She doesn’t know when they stop. She feels the cold of snow beneath her broken body, feels the release of his arms, knows that he sits now beside her.

He doesn’t know if she can hold on much longer. He sees the crimson running and pooling, becoming one with the snow and he can’t tell if it is her blood staining his arms, though he hopes that it is his own.

He somehow forces his weak legs to carry the two to safety and bloodied arms to hold her, as if it may be the last time possible. He somehow calms himself, reassuring himself that she’d get through this, right?

This had happened before. Of course it had. She had been broken and he had fixed her, like he always did. She had fallen and failed and he had been her support and lifeline, like he always will be.

And over the whisper of wind and the arduous breaths of his lover, he hears the screaming of his brain and the crying of his heart. And he thinks that surely he has failed her this time. A lifesaver thrown once a victim has drowned is not a life saver at all.

She smiles then, her red lips now darker with blood, the reason unknown to him. And that almost makes her smile more, although she fears that impossible. Ironic, she thinks, that he is the reason for her smile and yet he does not know it.

And he sees her physical pain and she sees his, an emotional train wreck buried deep within the heart of a man just asking whatever god exists to help her.

He sits her up, then, finding the source of the crimson river that stains his heart and her body and the white snow beneath them.

Her red hair is slick with sweat and snow and blood and he thinks then that even so, she is the most fascinatingly beautiful creature that he has ever seen.

His eyes are filled with worry and exhaustion and pain and she thinks then that although she has never quite said it, she loves that man more than she ever imagined before. Her breaths are quick and loud, filled with pain, sending white clouds into the frigid air. His are slow and deliberate, and she watches with tired eyes and fascination as the clouds from her mouth mingle with the clouds from his.

She struggles for breath, and his catch in his throat as he quietly whispers to her that she will be okay.

“This isn’t something that you can just kiss better, Barton.” She whispers, clouds of white framing her words and his face.

He looks at her then, a small smile ghosting over his lips and his tired eyes watching her pained ones.

He whispers, “Watch me.”

**Author's Note:**

> First story is up! I'm new here, just another writer.  
> I write trash & I am trash.


End file.
